


Paying the price

by oooknuk



Series: Consequences [2]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M, death of child OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Two years after the events in 'Father and Son', a tragic case brings back unbearable memories for Fraser. Now Ray Kowalski must find him and bring him home.





	Paying the price

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters you recognise will belong to Alliance. No infringement of copyright intended. Not for profit. 
> 
> Warnings: Violence, language. No graphic sex, darn it. 
> 
> This is a sequel to 'Father and Son' which is a gen story with Ray Vecchio, set before Ray Kowalski's arrival at the 27th Precinct. This story takes place approximately two years after the events of the previous story, a couple of months or so before 'Good for the soul'.

The two partners waited in silence in the dark alley. They had gotten word from a small time hood, Jack Paluchi, that he was going to meet with his underworld contact tonight at his, Paluchi's, apartment. He was facing charges related to receiving stolen goods, and had agreed to finger the man behind a series of thefts and frauds in return for a reduction in charges. All Ray and Fraser had to do was to nail the guy as he left Paluchi's apartment, and Paluchi's testimony would put him away.

Ray yawned and looked over at his partner, whose eyes were intent, watching the apartment building entrance. Fraser was wearing his familiar red serge under a warm blue great coat. "Hey, Fraser," Ray asked his partner, more for something to say than actual interest, "Don't you find the uniform kind of  restricting?"

Fraser's eyes never left his target as he replied, "No actually, it's quite..." They heard a shot. Fraser exploded out of the car, while Ray called in their ID and location. "Shots fired. Officer needs assistance". He followed his partner who was pounding up the stairs to Paluchi's second floor apartment. The door was closed. Ray shouted "Police" but didn't wait for the reply before kicking it in. They heard the thud of furniture overturning and as they rushed in, a man was seen heading out the window. Fraser gave chase, down the fire escape, while Ray took a few vital seconds to check the apartment. He quickly saw he could do nothing more there, so exited the window to follow his partner. He saw Fraser below him, bailed up by a man, hands raised. He drew his gun, and crept quietly, quickly, down the stairs. Fraser was talking to the gunman, in the slow, reasonable tones which Ray had come to know only too well. He was telling him to put the gun down, there was no need to shoot him. The man hesitated for just a second, long enough for Ray to come up behind him, put his gun to his ear, and warn him in a menacing voice, "Drop it or I'll blow your head off." The man dropped his weapon immediately, and Ray forced him to lie down, so he could cuff him. Fraser picked up the gun and handed it to Ray.

"Thank you, Ray."

Ray was exasperated. One of these days his best friend was gonna be minus a head, pulling stuff like this.

"Fraser, the smart thing to do when you haven't got a gun and you're chasing a man who has got a gun is -  don't chase the guy with the gun."

"Yes, Ray," Fraser agreed innocently.  Ray shook his head disgustedly,  read the prisoner his rights and hauled him to his feet. Police cars were filling the alley. Fraser asked his partner, "Paluchi?" Ray shook his head again, this time to indicate that it was all over for Mr Paluchi.

Ray handed the prisoner over to the uniformed officers and climbed the stairs back to the apartment, Fraser behind him. The two men entered the bedroom where the late Jack Paluchi lay face down on the floor, a large bloody hole in the centre of his back. Fraser helped his partner turn him over, then stumbled back against the door in shock. Ray looked in horror at what they had found - Paluchi was clutching a baby to his chest - a child who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and who had paid for the sins of his father. Ray wanted to be sick.

"Oh shit. Fraser... ," but as Ray looked at where he thought his partner was standing, he saw Fraser was gone. Ray assumed he had gone to fetch one of the uniformed officers, and once his stomach had stopped doing flip flops, he set about the grim task of collecting and logging evidence from the gruesome site. He forced himself to ignore the ugliness of what he was looking at, although at another level he was utterly revolted at the sight of the dead infant. Still intent on his task, he suddenly heard a woman screaming.

Although he rose to forestall her, Ray could not stop her coming into the bedroom, and the next few minutes were taken up with the problem of dealing with a hysterical, bereaved wife and mother. Paluchi had sent her out to get some groceries, while he waited for his killer - a move which probably saved the woman's life. Ray was too busy with her, and with filling in his colleagues, to wonder why his partner had not returned to the crime scene. When at last he had handed the woman over to the police woman, and made the report to the lieutenant who had arrived with the forensics guys, he was puzzled to find the Mountie had disappeared. He asked around, but although he had been seen leaving the building some time before, no one knew where he was at the moment. Ray didn't have time to worry about his partner's atypical behaviour. Fraser would have to look after himself for a while. Ray had to go down to the station to file the crime report.

 

* * *

Fraser stumbled out of the room, face sheet white. His gorge rose within him, as he ran, half fell down the stairs of the apartment building. He saw the policemen attending the scene in the front of the building - they nodded at him familiarly. He did not speak to them, but instead turned down the alley beside the building. He could hold it in no longer, and threw up. Heave after heave wracked him, and he sank to his knees. The vision of the dead baby, the blood, swam in front his eyes, merging with the picture of another dead child, clasped in the arms of his partner. Blood everywhere. He shuddered as he struggled to control himself, tears filling his eyes from the battle. When finally he felt he could stand up without again needing to vomit, he did so. His face was bleak, tear streaked. He left the alley, but did not return to the apartment. Instead he took a taxi back to the consulate. He remembered nothing of the ride, could hardly keep his thoughts on one thing - the images of death were overwhelming him. One idea, one goal, was crystal clear in his mind, though. He knew this was what he wanted to do. It was what he had to do.

 

* * *

Ray was not finished at the precinct for several hours, by which time he was pretty tired. The events of the failed stakeout had shaken and distressed him, and he wanted to be alone - or with Fraser, if he ever showed up.  Welsh came by his desk, putting his coat on as he prepared to go home.

"Constable Fraser not with you?"

"Nah, he scrammed."

Welsh was surprised. "You two have a fight?"

"He just left. We found the, the, you know..."

Welsh knew what was so hard to say. "The child, yes, I know".

"And when I looked next, Fraser had gone."

"Maybe he remembered something he had to do?"

"Yeah, maybe." Ray was too tired to puzzle over it. He'd call at the consulate tomorrow, but he had to get some sleep. Fraser would be able to look after himself - he always did.

"'Night, lieutenant."

Welsh watched him go. A sudden pang of worry took hold of him. He knew what this murder - double murder - had brought back to the constable, how it had indeed revived painful memories for himself. He hoped the Mountie really had left so abruptly because he'd simply remembered some pressing business. For both the partners' sakes.

 

* * *

Ray slept in, as it was Saturday morning. It had been a long week, and he had not got to bed until 2am, but at last the demands of his bladder forced him out of bed. It was nearly noon. He was slightly surprised that Fraser had not been around to wake him earlier. Normally the Mountie would turn up with Dief at some ridiculously early hour on weekends and suggest they do something disgustingly healthy - like go for a walk. Ray counted on it - looked forward to it. He yawned as he attended to his ablutions. Fraser was probably shattered, Ray thought. He basically did two jobs, and god knew, the man was only human, and no longer a young man either. Welcome to the real world, Ray thought speaking to Fraser in his mind, smiling as he thought of him. Getting old, getting tired. Even you.

Ray ate breakfast at a leisured pace, and thought it was about time he roused up his lazy friend. He drove the GTO over the consulate and banged on the doors. No response. Surprised, he used his cell phone to call Fraser's number, but only got re-routed to the consular answer phone which assured him, in two languages, that the consulate was closed until 9am Monday morning. Ray gave up - Fraser hardly ever told him in advance of his plans, and Ray guessed he would let him know when he was good and ready. Ray went home, and slobbed out, deliberately ignoring the small worm of worry nagging him. Much later, he would kick himself for doing that.

 

* * *

Monday came, and Ray was at his desk by 8.30. The file of the Paluchi case was on his desk, but he sipped his coffee slowly before opening it. He was still contemplating it when his desk phone rang. "Detective, this is Inspector Thatcher, from the Canadian Consulate." Ray was amused, he knew who she was. So formal, these Canadians.

"Yes, Inspector, what can I do you for?"

"Have you seen Fraser?"

No 'Constable', he noted. He was surprised as much by her sharp tone as her question.

"No, I haven't. He left a crime scene we were working on Friday night, and I haven't seen him all weekend."

He heard again the harmonics of tension in her voice, and that little worm of worry suddenly got a lot bigger.

"There's something here I think you should see. Can you come over - now?"

Ray looked at his watch, and agreed. He told Francesca where he would be and drove over to the Consulate.

 

* * *

Turnbull greeted him politely, but without the usual 'Welcome to Canada' guff.  Something's wrong, Ray thought, his stomach clenching in fear. He strode into the inspector's office, where he was motioned to take a seat. She looked at him, grim faced.

"I had hoped you could tell me that Fraser had been with you. It would appear he was not at the consulate over the weekend. When I came in the morning, I found this."

She hand him a folded piece of letterheaded paper - the consulate's own, he noted. It was a note from Fraser, he noted, and as he read the contents, the pain in his gut got worse. The note said simply "I formally resign from the RCMP, with immediate effect. I will be in contact at some point regarding my effects. Benton Fraser."

Ray looked at the inspector in utter shock. What on earth could have sparked this - the man was calm enough on Friday and apart from the tragic turn of events at the stakeout, for which Fraser could not possibly blame himself, Ray could think of no reason for this totally unexpected decision. Thatcher took the note from his hands, folding it carefully again. She spoke, slowly, weighing her words.

"At one time, I have to admit nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have received a note like this. But now, my only concern is that it shows that Fraser - Constable Fraser - is in trouble. I have decided I will take no notice of this letter until you, or somebody else, finds him, and he comes here and explains himself in person. Do I make myself clear?"

Ray nodded. He appreciated what Thatcher was doing - it would have been very easy for her to shed responsibility for the Mountie and he knew how much she had previously wanted to do just that. She's giving him space to come back, he thought, and thanked her in his mind. Oh, to hell with it, he thought. "Thanks, Inspector."

"What for?"

"For giving him a chance." She nodded curtly.

"Just find him," she ordered. As she stood up to dismiss him, her phone rang. Ray was at the door when she called his name, and asked him to wait while she finished the call.

"That was one of the constable's former neighbour's on West Racine, a Mrs Gamez. It seems he took his dog there on Friday night, left the woman a considerable sum of money and asked if she could take care of him. It appears that the dog is not behaving himself, and she wondered if we could find Fraser to get him to take the dog away again."

Her matter of fact report could not hide the shock on her face or in her voice. Ray shared her alarm - if Fraser couldn't even take Dief with him, what sort of trouble was he in?

 

* * *

Ray said he would pick Diefenbaker up, and left for West Racine, to a building close to the one where Fraser had lived before it burned down. Thatcher could give him no idea where Fraser might have gone. With all his family dead, and no known contacts, Ray had nowhere to start. He was hurt that Fraser would leave Dief with a stranger - well, a stranger to him - rather than ask Ray for help. More than hurt. Worried sick. Ray was convinced that something was desperately wrong, and he had to find out what, before Fraser got himself into a situation he couldn't handle. Dief was ecstatic to see him, and the woman relieved. Seemed he had barked himself hoarse, and had had to be locked in. Fraser's money, but principally his friendship with the woman, whose children he had prevented from being taken into care, had stopped her taking the wolf to the pound. Ray thanked her and reassured her, untruthfully, as to Fraser's well being. She looked at him uncertainly.

"Constable Fraser, he is in trouble, no?"

"No," Ray lied.

"You tell him, we are praying for him," she said earnestly in her soft Spanish accent. He's gonna need it, Ray thought.

 

* * *

He took Dief back to the precinct - his second home, land of the pilfered donuts and swiped sandwiches. Welsh called him in immediately, and chewed him out for leaving while the Paluchi case was still needing so much work. Ray broke into the tirade.

"Fraser's missing."

Welsh stopped, his eyes narrowed.

"Since Friday night?"

Ray nodded, and told him as succinctly as possible what he knew. Welsh sat back in his chair.

"Sit down, detective," his tone suddenly not angry any more. Ray looked at his boss expectantly. Welsh spoke.

"Does the name Petey Carpenter mean anything to you?"

Ray shook his head.

"You haven't heard something about a kid who died a couple of years ago, who was staying with the Vecchios?"

Ray remembered something.  "I think I heard from one of the kids, that a friend of theirs died in an accident - I didn't get the details, no one said anything about it."

Welsh leaned forward and steepled his hands in front of him.

"I think no one talks about it to spare Mrs Vecchio's feelings. Petey Carpenter was the seven year old son of a prime witness against Paul Ionucci. For reasons I don't need to explain, Ray Vecchio was obliged to take the child into his home. He and Constable Fraser protected the child for nearly three months, but unfortunately, we realised too late a hit had been set up by the boy's own mother. The constable and Vecchio were both injured, but the boy was killed. "

Ray was stunned. The story was almost too painful to hear. "I didn't know..."

"We don't talk about it. It's over. Vecchio ... well, I thought he was going to go mad there with grief for a while, but the constable was like a rock. He got him through it, and helped the family too.  Then Vecchio went undercover, and so no one mentions it any more."

"And what about Fraser?" Ray demanded.

"Well, now I am beginning to wonder if we made a mistake there. We were mainly concerned with Vecchio - I mean the kid was like his own son to him, and he took it very badly. The constable, he seemed quieter for a while, but he did suffer a head wound. Things did get back to normal, and then we didn't talk about it again."

Ray was exasperated at this, but could not express his frustration to his superior. He fought to keep his tone calm.

"Do you think he was hit harder by everything than it looked?"

Welsh nodded.

"I think that's possible." He sat back again, and spoke again in a quiet voice.

"Detective, I don't want to worry you unduly but there is a possibility that the constable is suffering PTSD.  You know the drill. I've seen it in officers who have to deal with serial murders, bank robbery survivors, that sort of thing. They get all sort of problems - flashbacks, bad dreams, irrational rages... suicidal thoughts. Can put a real strain on relationships. Sometimes nothing much can trigger it off, but this - the Paluchi murder, you can imagine how Fraser must have seen the similarities. The death of Petey Carpenter was one of the worst things I've been involved with on the force, and Fraser .... I doubt the constable would ever seen anything like that before."

"Fraser's not exactly fragile, boss." Despite his words, Ray suddenly remembered times when the Mountie's loneliness, verging on depression, was apparent even to him. Times when Ray tried to be a friend, to replace Ray Vecchio. He thought he had. But maybe it just wasn't enough.

"I know he's been through tough times, but he always had Vecchio with him - you know, during the Victoria Metcalf affair, and when he caught his father's killer. But he's been dealing with this on his own. Maybe not too well."

His words hung in the air, and Ray knew why he had been so afraid since he had arrived at the consulate that morning. Fraser dead, Fraser injured. He had to stop it happening. The man was Ray's whole life.

"Lieutenant, I gotta find him."

Welsh agreed with Ray that it was most likely Fraser had gone north, and suggested he look at some of the old case notes that Fraser and Ray Vecchio had worked on, to see if there was any clue as to where, or to who, the mountie would head if he were in trouble. It was going to be time consuming, but there were no other leads.

Ray spent the day and a considerable part of the evening going over Ray Vecchio's files. Looking over them, he was struck anew by how well the two men had worked together. From what Welsh had said, Fraser had also proved a true friend at the lowest point in Ray's life. Now the new Ray in Fraser's life was going to have to do the same for him. At last, close to midnight, one case and one name stood out. Buck Frobisher. Fraser had helped the man bring in a notorious escaped cop killer called Geiger, suffering a serious stab wound in the thigh for his pains.  Then Frobisher had been involved in the capture of a terrorist who'd threatened to blow up a train. The file noted that both Fraser and his father had known Frobisher for many years. Ray didn't know what the relationship was, but it was the only lead to a living friend from Fraser's past he could find. He looked at the clock. He could make no enquiries now, and besides, he had to get Dief back, fed and walked. Bone weary, and worried sick, he reluctantly drove himself and the wolf home.

 

* * *

He was up early and waiting at the Consulate as Thatcher arrived. She was surprised at his early appearance, but he forestalled any sarcasm. "Buck Frobisher," he said simply. She smacked her head in disgust.

"Of course. I should have thought. There's a long time family connection, Sergeant Frobisher told me. Fraser's father and he were partners."

Thatcher took him inside and made a few phone calls. She discovered that Frobisher was now based at the RCMP Depot in Regina. He was on leave for a few days, and would not be back until Friday. Ray made his decision. "I'm going up there." Thatcher thought this was lunacy.

"You have no idea where Fraser has gone. Why not wait until Friday - you can speak to Frobisher when he gets back."

Ray shouted at her. "Look, lady, Fraser could be dead by then! If I go up north, and wait for Frobisher, I'll have a head start."

Thatcher obviously briefly considered telling him off for his rudeness, then thought better of it.  She gave Ray the necessary details, and promised to warn the Depot of his arrival, and of the urgency of the mission. Ray turned and left. "Good luck," he heard her say as he closed the door. I'll need more than that, he thought.

 

* * *

He decided to drive at least as far as Regina, but had to wait for two days before he could leave. He had been all for getting out of Chicago the same day as he spoke to Thatcher, but Welsh prevailed on him to make proper preparations, and to put his most urgent cases in hand before he left.  He'd contemplated leaving the wolf with the Vecchios but then thought that perhaps Dief could perhaps get through to Fraser, if no one else could. Maybe that's why Fraser left him behind, Ray guessed.

The trip took him two days, and he stayed at a hotel overnight in Regina before driving to the Depot on the Friday morning.  He was taken by a young recruit to Frobisher's office, and there he was greeted by a tall, heavily set man with white hair. He looks old enough to be Fraser's grandfather, Ray thought, but was quickly disabused of any fears of senility. Frobisher greeted him without the usual formalities and got to the point.

"Took you long enough to find me. I've been expecting you."

"You coulda given us a few hints," Ray retorted sarcastically.

"Shouldn't have had to." Frobisher sat down, and spoke again. "I know why you're here but before you start asking me any difficult questions, I have to say that I have given Benton my word of honour as a Mountie that I will not tell you or anyone else where he is."

"Gee, thanks for nothing. He's a friend of yours and you're gonna leave him to tear his guts out all on his own?"

Ray was suddenly angry with this old fart, but Frobisher held his hands up in appeasement. "Whoa there, kid. I love Benton like he's my own son. He's in trouble, I know that. God knows he's helped me out once or twice. But my word is my word." Ray glared at him. Frobisher just looked him, and then past him at a map of the territories which was pinned to the wall. Ray looked at it and back to Frobisher. The older man stood up.

"Would you excuse me for a minute? There's a file I've got to get," and then he left the room. Ray was annoyed. The old guy wasn't taking this seriously. He stared at the map with despair. If Fraser was up here, and didn't want to be found, how was this city slicker going to retrieve him? Suddenly Ray peered closer at the map. There were map pins all over, but right in the middle, next to the name of a small town, Fort Providence, near Great Slave Lake, was another, different pin. A maple leaf. Ray laughed, despite his worry. Frobisher hadn't _told_ him, but there was no law against _showing_ him.

Frobisher returned - with empty hands, Ray noted. Frobisher saw the direction of his gaze, but did not change expression. Ray looked at him, and grinned. "What's the quickest way north?" he pointed to his destination, and watched the other man exhale with relief. Mountie honour, Ray thought with disgust.

The village was 800 miles north of the Depot, and accessible only by boat or aquaplane.  Ray could drive up to the south side of the lake, and get transport there. Frobisher had talked - in general terms - about a cabin he owned up there, without specifically stating Fraser was there. He also talked about the fine sightseeing the local guides could afford the visitor, if one knew how to go about it. Ray got the details. Frobisher maintained the appearance of being apparently unaware of Ray's intent almost until he left, but at last the mask slipped, as he walked Ray to his car. He took Ray's arm.

"Detective, I think you ought to be prepared for the worst up there."

Ray's heart sank.

"You mean he might be ....?"

Frobisher shook his head.

"No, not yet. But I think he's desperate to be left alone, and I don't know what he'll do when you arrive. Have you got your handcuffs? Gun?" Ray nodded, filled with dismay. He'd brought the items across the border quite illegally, and that the older man wasn't worried, worried him.  What was Frobisher warning him about?

"I can't give you any advice on this one, son. But what I will say is that you have to try and remember, he's still in there. Somewhere. He's just lost at the moment. You have to help him find the way home." Ray nodded and left without further word. Frobisher watched him go.  The look on his face told Ray volumes about the difficulties he was going to face in bringing his friend back.

 

* * *

By the time Ray got dropped off by boat near Frobisher's cabin, he was seriously pissed off with the world. His car had broken down twice, and since he had arrived too late  to arrange any transport across the lake, he had been forced to stay for two nights in the town - hardly more than a village, where the accommodation was primitive, to say the very least. He had gotten very tired of being stared at by big eyed Inuit children, and felt every inch, every second, the clumsy Yank intruder. If the cabin hadn't been a good forty kilometres away, and by water at that, he'd had done it alone, just to get away from the stares. Finally, mid afternoon, he'd been dropped off, with Dief and his bag, on the lake shore, and had his destination pointed out to him, about a mile from the water. The boatman said he would be back that way in a few days, and would be happy to pick him up or drop off supplies. Ray waved him off.  He could see the cabin easily and began to walk clumsily thought the thick powdery snow. Boy, was he gonna tick the Mountie off for this, he thought as he struggled on. At last he came within shouting distance of the cabin. "Fraser!" he cried. No response. He tried again, and Dief barked. Nothing. He walked onto the porch and dumped his gear. As he raised his hand to knock, the door flew back on its hinges, and Ray was suddenly looking down the barrel of a rifle. And there, pointing the gun at him, with murderous intent, was his friend.

This was the stuff of nightmares. Fraser was unshaven, red eyed and untidy, but his sights never wavered as he kept the rifle trained on his partner. "Leave," he ordered. His voice was gruff, hoarse almost, but unfortunately completely understandable.

Ray shook his head.

"No, Fraser. What the hell are you doing? Put that down."

Fraser tightened his grip and took a better aim. Ray was suddenly very frightened indeed. The man looked insane - Ray did not know this person. The cop in him took over. Relax, Ray, he told himself. He's just another nut with a gun. You can handle it. Ray let his voice ooze soothingly just as Fraser had done - God, was it just a week ago? - in the alley behind the Paluchi apartment.

"Easy, Fraser. Just put the gun down and we'll talk about it..."

"Shut up, Ray. Pick up your bag, turn around and go."

Ray laughed with no amusement.

"Can't do it, ole buddy. Got no lift for four days. Let me come in, we'll..."

Fraser shoved the rifle closer.

"I said, leave. Go, or I'll blow your head off."

Ray's anguish was without limit as he heard Fraser use the threat Ray himself had used on Paluchi's killer. Ray had meant it then, and he knew Fraser meant it now. All the same, he wasn't joking about the boat, and if he left now, it would be just the same as Fraser killing him. Couldn't be worse.

Fraser interrupted his thoughts.

"I said, go. You deaf?" Then he placed the end of the rifle right up to Ray's forehead. Ray could see Fraser was sweating, and if he weren't so frightened, he would have had time to be seriously anxious about his friend's health. Suddenly Fraser shoved the rifle a little, banging Ray's forehead, and making him stumble backwards. Dief barked, and without warning, flew at Fraser's body, throwing man and wolf off balance. It was all Ray needed. He jumped on top of Fraser and grabbed his arms while Dief kept the man busy. Fraser fought like a wild animal, but once Ray had his arms twisted up behind him, he got the cuffs on without much trouble. He pinned Fraser to the floor with a knee. He could hear the Mountie breathing heavily, his face pressed sideways on the wooden floor. At least he's stopped struggling, Ray thought. He waited until he could speak calmly.

"Okay, Fraser, you want to tell me what's this is all about?"

"Go away and leave me alone."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Change the record, I heard that one already." Ray wondered what to do. They could hardly stay on the floor, but he had enough experience of Fraser to know that even with his hands cuffed behind, the guy was a formidable fighter. He just never expected to be the one fighting him. Then he spotted some rope near the porch.

"Dief, watch him, " he ordered as he fetched the rope and threw it into the cabin's interior, over to the bed he could see in the corner. He drew his gun and pointed it at Fraser.

"OK, big guy, now we do it my way. I ain't gonna kill ya, unless you force me to, but there's nothin' which says I can't wound ya a little. So you be good, or I'll shoot, just see if I don't."

Ray wasn't sure he could do what he threatened, but at the same time, if Fraser really did plan homicide, then he had a duty to protect himself and any other innocent people he might come across. He pulled the unresisting man onto his knees.

"Now, get up, slowly." Fraser did as he was told, but the look on his face told Ray that he was a dead man if Fraser got free.

"Lie on the bed," Ray ordered.

He pushed Fraser over to the corner and forced him down. Fraser lay down and turned to the wall. Communications over for now, Ray thought. He tied the rope round Fraser's ankles and then to the bed leg. It didn't look comfortable, but Ray didn't want to risk a struggle with the man. If he got up, or tried to, he'd fall on the floor. He searched for and found Fraser's boot knife, and removed it. The unpleasant task done, Ray went back to the porch, grabbed his bag and slammed the door closed. Home, sweet home, he thought.

He sat on the only chair in the room, and wondered desperately what he should do. He could call for help on his cell phone, but couldn't think who he could call without bringing the whole RCMP down on them. Fraser had few friends in the force, he knew, and while he was angry at the recent actions of his 'friend', he wasn't yet ready to betray him to the enemy. Besides, Fraser hadn't committed an actual crime, and Ray wasn't a cop in this jurisdiction. Unless he wanted to get Fraser committed to a mental institution, he had very few options. He had to at least try to get through to him, at least until the boat returned - or Fraser succeeded in killing him. He looked around him. The room was monastically bare, and freezing. Gotta get a fire going, he thought, looking for the makings. He couldn't ask the silent Mountie for help, but was pleased to, eventually, if rather crudely, get a fire built and lit in the fireplace.

Gradually the room warmed. It was getting dark too, and Ray realised that it had been hours since he had had a meal. He looked in the small kitchen for supplies. Hard rations were all that was on offer. Ray was only slightly surprised to find that there was very little food that appeared to be new - Fraser had apparently not brought anything much with him. Ray thought that this meant that he'd either planned on not staying long, or, as Ray suddenly realised, that he didn't plan on eating while he was here. There were tinned vegetables, corned beef, oatmeal, dried milk powder, powdered eggs and flour - all dusty and of considerable age. Yuck, Ray winced. They wouldn't starve, but they wouldn't exactly get fat either. Still, they had to eat. He opened a can of corned beef for Dief and put it into an old plastic dish. He heated up another can of beef, and peas, for them, and made some pancakes to go with them. He dumped the heated food on top a stack of pancakes each on plates, and brought it into the main room. Fraser still had his back turned to him. He put one plate on the table, and brought the other over to the bed, placing it on the dresser beside it.

"Time to eat, Frase." He was ignored. He grabbed the man's shoulder and wrenched it to force Fraser to face him. The man's face was clenched in anger.

"Time to eat, I said."

"Go away," Fraser said vehemently,  and rolled over again.

Ray dragged him back to face him.  "OK, Fraser, here's how we're gonna play it. You eat, you get to go to the can like a proper human being. You don't eat, you're gonna pee in a bucket, you get treated like the moron you obviously are, and you can stay tied up until you die. And I'm gonna watch you the whole time. Capice?"

Ray had to hope there was some shred of dignity left in the shell of the man he once - still hoped to - call his friend. More than a friend.  Fraser looked him coldly and for a few heart stopping seconds Ray was afraid he was too far gone in madness to be saved. Then, miraculously, Ray saw a slight nod.

"Was that a yes? Say it, say, 'yes'."

"Yes."

Hallelujah, Ray breathed. He ordered the wolf to again watch his master. He took the long end of the rope tying Fraser's ankles to the bed leg, and undid the cuffs. He left one wrist bound, and then knotted the end of the rope to the spare cuff. He dragged Fraser up and made him sit with his back to the wall, then put the plate of food on his lap. He looked at it and then at Ray, obviously expecting a knife and fork. Ray placed a spoon on the plate, and almost laughed at the look of disgust this earned him. It wasn't much but if Fraser could still be insulted, may be he could still reach him.

Fraser ate the meagre meal with dispatch then flipped the plate off his lap, giving Ray a mutinous look. Ray decided to let it pass. He got up and fetched a glass of water. Fraser shook his head.

"Drink it," Ray ordered. Fraser complied, but Ray forestalled his next action.

"Throw it and you can lick it up." He took the glass from the man, and removed the plate and spoon. This is great, he thought. All we have to do is wait until one of us get bored to death, or kills the other one, or dies of the cold - no problem. He dumped the dirty dishes in the kitchen, and returned. The Mountie hadn't moved, and was still glaring at him. Ray sat down and looked at him.

"Fraser, talk to me. What's wrong? I'm your friend. Tell me." Ray knew there was not a hope in hell of an answer, but he had to let Fraser know he was at least willing to help. He got no response, as he feared. He sighed and lay back in the chair, eyes closed. He didn't mean to doze but must have done because when he woke, the room was dark. Frase hadn't moved, he perceived. He found a hurricane lamp and lit it, throwing the room into sharp relief of dark and light.

Fraser spoke, his voice rough. "I wish to go to the bathroom."

Ray agreed, as the Mountie had kept his side of the bargain. First, he checked the bathroom for implements of harm, and weapons, then he pulled out his gun, and kept it on Fraser as he undid the cuff attached to the rope, and then reattached it to the man's wrist. Dief watched Fraser as Ray undid the ankle ropes.

"Get up," he ordered. He pushed Fraser ahead of him, and shoved him into the small washroom. Fraser went to kick the door shut, but Ray stopped him.

"Keep it open," he insisted. Another dirty look. Ray had no interest in watching Fraser relieve himself, and waited until he came out. Ray pushed him back over the bed and made him lie down again while he reattached the ankle restraints. He hesitated as he undid the cuffs, preparatory to binding the man's hands behind his back. It was going to be a very unpleasant way to sleep. On the other hand, the man was dangerous, and deranged. He couldn't risk him getting loose while he slept. Sorry, Fraser, he said to himself, as he fastened the cuffs. Fraser turned to the wall. Ray covered him with a blanket. 'Where am I gonna to sleep?' he wondered, and then saw Fraser's bedroll. He spread it out before the fire, and was asleep in seconds.

 

* * *

He woke with a start. The room was dark, and freezing again. He lit the lamp. What had woken him? he wondered. Then he heard it again.

"Ray!"

Fraser?, he thought in surprise. He went over the bed. The Mountie was asleep but had rolled over to lie on his back. His face was contorted.

"Petey!" he shouted. "No! Ray!" This Ray knew it was the other one Fraser was dreaming about, and about the death of the boy. He sat on the bed grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him over onto his side. He shook him.

"Fraser, wake up!" The blue eyes flew open, but were unfocussed.

"Ray?"

"I'm here, Fraser."

Fraser relaxed, but then woke fully. His face twisted again.

"Get away from me."

Ray let his hands drop. Anguish filled him. Maybe this was personal, he thought. Maybe I'm the reason he's gone mad. He couldn't think how, but maybe that was why Fraser wanted to kill him. He got up and Fraser rolled away from him. Ray rebuilt the fire, and then lay down on the bed roll again. Despite the pain in his heart, sheer exhaustion meant he was asleep again very quickly.

 

* * *

Morning came, and Ray woke, disoriented. Why was he on the floor? He looked around and saw the room, and his partner, still tied to the bed. Welcome to my nightmare, he sighed. He rolled up the bedroll and used the bathroom. He made a scratch breakfast - pancakes again, with maple syrup that he'd discovered tucked at the back of a cupboard. He tried not to think of how old it must be. No coffee - not even bark tea. He brought the plates into the living room. Fraser was still ignoring him, but he could tell he was awake.

"Time to eat," he said to his prisoner. Nothing.

He sighed wearily. "Fraser, we had this talk last night. Come on, be good." Fraser rolled over and sat up with difficulty. Ray could see he was obviously stiff and part of him wanted to set him free and spare him the indignity and discomfort - but the risk was too great.  Fraser waited for Ray to release his hands, then took the plate without comment and ate the food. This time he didn't toss the plate away, but waited for Ray to remove it.

Ray made to head to the kitchen, but stopped and looked at his stonefaced friend. How long was he gonna keep this up? He came back and stood near the bed, looking down at the other man.

"Fraser, come on. I know you're still there. You gotta try, shake this off. I know you don't really want to hurt me - do you, Frase? Fraser? Look at me when I'm talking to you." Ray's words were greeted with an umoving glare which refused to acknowledge his presence, but he saw Fraser's hands ball into fists. He quickly recuffed him, and stepped back.

"Ok, if that's how you want it. We'll do it the hard way ." He turned his back on his friend and removed the dishes into the kitchen. He washed them up and fed Dief. He strofe back into the living room, ignoring Fraser, and went out onto the porch. There wasn't much to the cabin's surrounding. Just a lot of white, pristine snow, and a few trees in the distance. It was bitterly cold, but with no wind. He realised that a continuous fire would mean having to find a supply of wood. At the back of the cabin were some unsplit logs, so he set to work, breaking them up with the axe he found there. He exorcised some of his frustration on the task, and was warm and sweaty by the time he had done. He picked a big arm full of timber and carried the wood in the cabin. He threw it with a crash into the basket next to the fireplace. He saw Fraser's eyes glance at the noise, but then return to their hard stare at the world in general. Ray knelt down to put the wood into some order.

As he busied himself with the task, Fraser uttered a single word. "Bathroom."

Ray got up, undid the restraints and dragged Fraser to his feet, gun trained on him. As he walked in front of Ray to the bathroom, he appeared to stumble. Ray grabbed his arm in reflex and received a powerful jab to the stomach for his trouble. The gun went off, hitting the wall, then it was knocked from his hand. Fraser stood over him and hit him again and again, in the face, in the ribs. Dief leapt at Fraser, but he picked up Ray's pack in both hands, and slammed it into the wolf, who hit a wall with a yelp. Ray got to his feet groggily, but received another blow to the side of the head from Fraser's clenched fists which sent him into the corner of the fire place, the edge of a fire dog catching him on the temple. He slid to the floor, as Fraser searched his pockets for the key to the cuffs. He didn't hear the Mountie leave.

 

* * *

Ray woke with a sharp headache which throbbed and pulsed to his heart beat. He put his hand to the main source of the pain, on his right temple, and his hand came away with blood on it. Pale light still came in through the windows, but he had no way of knowing what time it was by that. He looked his watch and was able to make out, eventually, that it was about two hours after he'd got up, so only a couple of minutes could have passed since he'd been attacked. Fraser was gone, and Ray saw with panic, so was his gun. He sat up, his hands holding his head, filled with utter despair. Fraser was undoubtedly dead, and it was his fault. If Ray had not interfered, the crisis would not have happened. He had no choice now but to tell the authorities, and pulled out his phone to call the police.

But before he could dial, he heard barking. Dief's barking, outside on the porch. He opened the door to an hysterical wolf.

"What is it, Dief?" realising the stupidity of the question as he asked it. The wolf suddenly took off, south. Ray could see a set of tracks leading that direction in the snow. Fraser. He grabbed a heavy coat and followed the wolf, keeping to Fraser's trail. This is stupid, he thought. I'm gonna find a corpse, and then how am I gonna feel? He kept his mind grimly on the difficult task of ploughing through the snow, making only slow progress. He could see Dief bouncing up and down and barking ahead of him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Ray was exhausted and sore. His head throbbed and he hurt where Fraser's well aimed blows had landed. Ray honestly didn't care any more if he found Fraser dead, or he died out here. His world had crumbled and he didn't want to think about anything.

After trudging about a mile and a half, he came to a small stand of trees. The snow was less thick underfoot, and he moved more easily. Suddenly, there up ahead of him, was his friend. He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs, shivering. He heard Ray approach, and pointed Ray's gun at him. "That's close enough, Ray."

Ray flung himself down onto the ground a few feet from the other man.

"Go ahead and shoot, Fraser, I don't give a fuck anymore." Fraser looked surprised, off balance.

Ray goaded him. "Come on, get it over with. You obviously want to die, and if you die, I'm gonna freeze to death anyway." Fraser slowly lowered the gun and rested the hand holding it on the ground. There was a look of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Go home, Ray. Please." Fraser's voice was hoarse,  bleak, but free of aggression for the first time as he spoke to his friend. He looks tired to death, Ray thought. His heart felt tight with pity, and fear.

"Can't. Won't. Don't know the way back, anyway," Ray grinned weakly at him. Fraser dropped his eyes.

"Ray ...."

"Shut up, Fraser." The two men sat in silence. Ray was beginning to get chilled to the bone, and his headache was getting worse. He could see Fraser shivering, and saw he was only wearing the light, indoors jacket he had on when Ray first arrived. Stupid Mountie, Ray thought with rising anger. He's gonna die out here for nothing, and he's gonna kill me too.  He climbed to his feet with difficulty and looked at the other man, still ignoring him, lost in his own, lonely world. He shouted at him, even though it made his head ache.

"So this is it, is it Fraser? Ain't got the balls to put the gun to yer head, so yer gonna sit here until you freeze? Or were you planning to starve yerself to death?" Fraser gave him an angry look.

"Yeah, you get pissed off at me. Like I care. You already tried to kill me, but like I said, you ain't got the balls to do a proper job." He walked over the other man, bent down and took hold of the gun. Fraser grimaced and tightened his grip, but Ray tugged anyway. Fraser suddenly released it and Ray tossed the gun away from them.

"There. Happy? Now you can die without having to fire a gun. That's what you want, ain't it? You stupid..." Ray clenched his fists and walked unsteadily away from his friend. He felt dizzy. Without warning, his legs gave out from under him and he sank to the ground, his head throbbing. As his vision faded, he heard Fraser's shout.

 

* * *

When Ray awoke, he was inside the cabin and it was dark once more. He was lying on the bed, he realised. He rolled over and saw the fire was ablaze, the only light in the room. Dief was before the fire, and in the chair, looking at him with a grim face, was Fraser. Ray lay on his back. His head ached. He put his hand up and felt a dressing over the gash on his temple. He tried to sit up, and eventually managed it. Fraser had made no effort to help nor to speak to him. Well, at least he's not trying to kill me any more, Ray thought grimly. He looked at the other man, hunched in the chair. He couldn't see his face, but he saw something glistening in the firelight. Tears. Fraser was crying, wordlessly.

With difficulty, Ray pulled himself up and staggered over to Fraser, then knelt down beside the chair, using it for support. His friend stared ahead, weeping silently. Dear God in heaven, Ray thought, what do I do now? Tentatively he placed an arm around the crying man, and pulled him towards him. Fraser did not resist. Ray held him like that for what felt like hours, but what was probably only twenty minutes. Ray rubbed Fraser's back comfortingly, trying to put all the warmth and love he felt for the Canadian into his touch. Finally he removed his arm.

"Fraser? Frase?" The other man nodded, not looking at him. "I gotta pee," he announced. He heard his friend give a sob-like laugh, and rejoiced at the sound. He straightened up.

"Back in a minute." He felt his way to the bathroom, and used the facilities. He went back into the room and fetched a lamp, which he lit. He made a search in the bathroom for aspirin, and found a bottle with a few tablets of unknown antiquity in it. He took a dose, then washed his face. He felt, and looked, like death reheated. He came back into the room. To his surprise, Fraser was asleep in the chair, head lolling to one side. Ray didn't dare wake him, and just threw a blanket over him, putting his head in a supported position, and stroking the tired face, feeling a very slight warmth there which worried him.  It was still early but Ray felt sleep could only be a good thing at the moment for the other man. He knelt by Dief. The wolf had taken a huge whack from his friend, but as he ran his hands over Dief's fur, Ray could detect no injury. The wolf's nose was cold and damp, and his breathing regular. Just asleep, Ray decided. He added wood to the fire, and ate the leftover's from the previous night's meal. There wasn't much he could do in the cabin with the only other occupants fast asleep. He lay down on the bed, fully clothed and wrapped himself in the remaining blankets.

He lay on his back, thinking for a good while, about the situation he was in, what he would do if Fraser would not come back with him. He found it hard to concentrate - the headache had hardly been touched by the aspirin. The whole thing was a mess. He sighed and rolled over. He was asleep in a heartbeat.

 

* * *

Light was coming in the windows, as Ray woke and stretched. He couldn't tell if was dawn or dusk, but didn't care. He felt better rested than he had in over a week. He rolled over and saw Fraser was awake, chin on his chest, still covered in the blanket. He'd moved the chair over to the fire which had clearly been rebuilt. Dief was curled up at his feet, the sins of the previous day forgiven if not forgotten. He looked at the Mountie's drawn, ill-looking face. He realised that until he'd arrived, Fraser had probably not eaten - or slept - properly, if at all, in over a week. Only someone in Fraser's excellent condition would have survived so long, but if Ray had not come to shake him out of his suicidal solitude, Fraser might have been dead in a few days. We're not out of the woods yet, he thought. Fraser lifted his head and saw Ray looking at him. He gave him a thin smile, which didn't comfort Ray as much as he would have liked.

"Sleep well?"

"Peachy." Ray got up. His head ached still, although not as savagely. As he was still alive, he guessed he hadn't suffered any permanent damage. Tough luck if I had done, out here, he thought. He fetched some more aspirin and came back in the living room to take it. Fraser hadn't moved. He looks like an old man, Ray thought, wrapped in a blanket, dog at his feet. He seemed to have aged twenty years in a week. Ray was determined to restore normality.

"Pancakes for breakfast?" He had an inspiration. "Hey, I know - oatmeal!" No reaction, which Ray took to be assent. He busied himself in the kitchen, and brought two steaming bowls into the main room, handing one to Fraser. He took it from him, but made no attempt to eat.

Ray chided him, "Fraser, you gotta eat. Don't make me tie you up again." It was a feeble joke, and got no smile from Fraser. He pleaded again. "Come on, Fraser, please. You gotta eat something."

His friend grimaced. "I'm sorry, Ray. I can't. "

Ray knew threats would not work. They had gone past that point. Now he was in unmapped territory, and even Fraser did not know the landmarks. He tried again.

"Please, Fraser, just a coupla spoonfuls. If you get sick, I can't help you." Ray was desperate. Fraser lifted a spoonful to his mouth, to show willing, but dropped it again.

"I can't," he whispered, and to Ray's dismay, tears again began to fall down his face. Ray removed the bowl from his limp hands, then knelt by his chair. He'd have liked to take him in his arms - if ever a man looked like he needed a hug, it was Fraser - but Ray wasn't sure if he'd be welcomed. He settled for taking his hand.

"Fraser, please. Tell me what's wrong with you." Fraser shook his head. Ray took his face gently under his chin and made Fraser look at him. He was shocked by the depth of pain in the blue eyes.

"It's the boy, isn't it?" Fraser just looked at him, the tears dripping slowly from eyes unheeded.

"Tell me about him." Ray commanded.

He thought Fraser would refuse to answer, but suddenly he whispered, "There's blood everywhere. I can't see the hole. Ray! Ray!"

Ray Kowalski knew he was back in the place where the child had died, where his partner, Ray Vecchio, had been shot - where indeed, Fraser had been shot also. Ray took hold of both Fraser's hands and clasped them in his own.

"Tell me about it. What happened?"

Frase whispered again, so quietly, Ray had to lean into him to hear. "It's my fault." Ray was shocked. From what Welsh said the hit was professional, and came without warning. The two cops had barely escaped with their lives, and Fraser didn't even carry a gun. He asked the Mountie, "Why is it your fault?"

"Because I didn't think. I didn't plan. I could have stopped it, I could have found a way for us to get out."

Fraser's voice was just ragged, torn whispers. Ray's heart clenched but he spoke roughly to his friend.

"That's crap, Fraser, and you know it. Welsh told me what happened. What do you think you could have done? Shot the guy with your Stetson? Bored him to death with a story?"

Ray's attempt to make the man angry failed. Fraser shook his head, and freed his hands from Ray's.

"A child died, because of me. I promised to protect him, and to protect Ray. Petey died and Ray was hurt. I let him down. I let everyone down."

Ray could see Fraser was beyond reasoning, for now. He looked at the other man, who had now shut his eyes and shut him out. He stood up. At least he knew part of what was bothering him. He patted Fraser's shoulder, and left him in peace. He ate his cold oatmeal and took the bowls out. He realised Dief was probably needing a meal too, and laid out some corned beef  and Fraser's uneaten porridge for him. The wolf slunk into the kitchen to eat it, and then Ray turned him outside, going out onto the porch to watch the white animal bound around in the snow, piddle on a tree and chase some unfortunate small fur bearing animal he could sense under the snow. Ray contemplated the scene. If it weren't so awful, it'd be beautiful. Right now, though, Ray definitely wanted to be back in the city, where there were other people, doctors, psychiatrists ... he realised where his thoughts had led him. Fraser needed professional help. This was beyond him. All he could do was convince the Mountie to return with him, and accept the assistance of therapy, and maybe even drugs. Ray didn't like the thought. He could see why Fraser might prefer a lonely death up here, to having his private thoughts turned over and examined by a stranger. At the same time, Ray couldn't live without him. Life without Fraser and his mad plans, even the sidewalk licking, was like food without salt. Edible, but tasteless. He needed the Canadian like he needed to breathe. Ray had to get him through this. He made a decision. He would give himself the two days until the plane returned, a week, maximum. If Fraser wouldn't eat, and wouldn't come back voluntarily, he'd call Frobisher and the two of them would force Fraser, somehow, to return to a city for help. Ray's mouth twisted at the unappealing prospect. He shivered, not from the cold, and returned inside.

Fraser was not to be seen, but the bathroom door was closed. Ray sat on the bed, wondering what to do next. Fraser emerged, and Ray saw he had washed his face. A hopeful sign? he wondered. The other man's eyes were still red and nothing could erase the signs of exhaustion and, frankly, starvation. He'd lost weight, Ray noted. Fraser settled back in the chair, and stared into the fire.

"Well, Fraser, what ya gonna do today?"

"Nothing, Ray. I want to stay here."

"How long?" Ray demanded.

"Until...." Fraser couldn't meet his eyes.

"Until what, Frase? Until you die?" Fraser didn't say a word. Ray came over and stood in front of the fire, blocking Fraser's view of it. Fraser looked up at him, with dull, moist eyes. Ray grabbed his hands and pulled. "Get up, Fraser. Get up, " he ordered, dragging the listless man upright. He feels like he weighs nothing, Ray thought with alarm. He brought Fraser's thick coat over to him and made him put it on.

"Come outside, Fraser. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." He pushed the other man out the front door, and onto the little porch, shutting the door behind them. He tried to make Fraser come out on the fresh snow, which sparkled in the bright autumn sun, but Fraser would not be forced. He sat on the porch chair, refusing to move, so Ray gave up. Dief bounded up to him. "Hey, Dief. How's about you and I having a bit of fun. " He picked up a snow ball and threw it, Dief chasing madly after it. The wolf tried to bite the snowball but it fell apart in his jaws. Ray laughed at Dief's confusion, and threw another snowball. The wolf fell for the trick again, but then bounded up to Ray and knocked him over. Ray protested, laughing at the revenge. It felt good to play, to forget the Fraser problem for a few minutes. He ran clumsily in the snow, and Dief play-chased him. Ray found a stick and Dief was delighted to have real prey to pursue and bring back to his pack mate. The two friends ran through the snow, Dief chasing and retrieving, Ray laughing, being licked for his insolence. The sounds of barking, of happy shouts, rang around the snowy world.

 

* * *

Fraser sat and watched them. He dared not give himself over the guilt he felt abut mistreating Dief, or over his appalling behaviour with Ray. He felt worn out. His brain was dull, he couldn't think clearly. Nothing Ray could say could reach him - it was like being wrapped in a blanket that muffled sound, feeling, thoughts. He shivered, despite the warm coat. He didn't feel well, and wished Ray had let him be, but he had no energy to return inside. As he watched man and wolf roll around together on the snow, another picture came into his mind. He remembered a cold day in the park, with Ray and the child. He saw something pink - the Frisbee he'd brought. How Petey had loved that toy. Fraser could see the child's face, aglow with happiness as Dief pelted after the object, bringing it back to his feet. "Throw it again, Petey!"

 

* * *

Ray heard Fraser shout, and stopped in his tracks. It sounded like "Something again, Petey!" He looked back the porch. Fraser was standing, holding his hands to his face like a megaphone.

"That's it, son. Throw it again. Get it, Dief". Ray could see Fraser apparently waiting for something to happen.

"That's it, Dief. Now throw it again, Petey." Fraser was lost in the past. As Ray watched, he heard Fraser's voice change, from happy encouragement to desperation.

"Go get them, Dief, go find Ray, go find Petey." Ray watched Fraser stumbled down off the porch, into the snow, eyes blind to the present scene.

"Dief, find them. Where's Ray?" Then he knelt down in the snow. "Ray!" he screamed as he clutched at something invisible in the snow, then hugged his arms to his chest, rocking back and forth. "Petey," he said more quietly. Ray thought, he's found the dead child. He walked cautiously over the other man. He could see tears streaming down Fraser's face.

"I'm sorry, Petey. I'm sorry. I tried. Don't leave me, please don't leave me."

Ray cursed the Vecchio clan, and Welsh. Couldn't they have seen this? Ray remembered what Welsh had said. Ray Vecchio and Fraser had looked after the child for three months. Ray had not seen much of Fraser with children, but come to think of it, he was very good with Ray Vecchio's nieces and nephews.  He'd been wonderful with Janet Morse's three holy terrors too.  Didn't take much imagination to think Fraser wanted kids - hell, he wanted kids, too, it was only natural. Ray guessed that Fraser had been caught up in the dream of fatherhood, like Ray Vecchio had been, but when the child died, he had buried his own misery in the need to help Ray Vecchio and the rest of his family. No one bothered to think about Fraser's feelings.

Fraser was now huddled over in the snow. Ray came and stood next to him. He could hear Fraser's sobs, and they broke his heart. He tried to pull the man to his feet, but he resisted with surprising force.

"Go away."

Here we go again, Ray thought.

"No dice, Fraser. Get up, you're gonna freeze your butt out here," as he pulled at him again.

Fraser exploded up at him.

"I said, go away!" and he made a wild swing at Ray which almost took the American by surprise. He ducked and charged at Fraser, grabbing him round the waist and pulling him to the ground. Fraser struggled. Ray had left the cuffs inside, but in any event, did not want to bind Fraser again. He simply couldn't face it. They would have to slug it out like gentlemen, he thought. Fraser tried to get to his feet, but Ray kept a hold on him. Fraser pummelled him with his clenched fists, screaming wordlessly in rage, like a wounded animal. Ray gritted his teeth and held on for grim death. If the Mountie broke free, he would run until he died, Ray knew. Dief entered the fray, leaping at Fraser and grabbing the cloth of his coat at the shoulder, pulling him down. Ray managed to get on top of him. I seem to be doing this a lot lately, he thought, as he fought to keep the man down. Fraser kept on struggling, and Ray was truly afraid that his beloved friend had finally, irrevocably, lost his mind. All he could do was sit on him, and try and catch a flailing fist from time to time, to stop the man hurting himself.

When at last the struggles ended, Ray saw Fraser's ragged breathing slow, and his face relax. Oh wonderful, he thought, it's freezing, and he's asleep in the snow. Ray waited for a minute or two, but knew the situation was too dangerous to be allowed to continue. Fraser was weak from lack of sleep and food, and if he stayed out here for much longer, he was going to get pneumonia. He got off the other man, and knelt beside him. He'd have to risk waking him, and hoped the brain storm had passed. He grabbed his shoulders and hauled him into a sitting position, shaking him.

"Fraser! Frase! Wake up, buddy!" Blue eyes opened, confused.

"Gotta get up, Fraser, we're getting cold." Fraser looked at his partner, clearly not knowing why he was sitting in the snow or why he felt so lousy. Ray manhandled him up and virtually carried him inside the cabin. He pushed the Mountie onto the bed, and then collapsed in the chair. Fraser curled into a ball. He did not fall asleep immediately, but lay watching his partner with dull, misery laden eyes. Ray shook his head at his look.

"I dunno, Fraser, I dunno. What are we gonna do?"

Fraser closed his eyes, in despair.

Ray watched his partner sleep. He didn't think he could take any more of this. The other man was stronger than him, despite his debilitation, and was driven by demons Ray could hardly contemplate. If Fraser tried to run out again, Ray didn't think he could stop him. Maybe it was time to get help. He pulled out the cell phone, but then put it back. The idea of Fraser in prison, in the hospital, made him sick to his stomach. One more try, he thought. Just one more.

 

* * *

Fraser woke, to the smell of cooking. To his surprise, he felt hungry. He also needed the bathroom. He got up and went into the little room. He looked at his face in the mirror. A stranger looked back. He seemed to have collected some more bruises, and the stiffness of his body seemed to confirm another battle. With Ray? he wondered. He could remember being on the porch, and then lying on the snow. He had no idea why he had been out in the snow, or how he'd got into the bed. He splashed his face with water trying to clear his dull head. He came out of the bathroom and saw Ray standing in the living room, a plate of stew in his hand.

"You're up," Ray said flatly.

"Apparently." He gave Ray a little grin. Ray stared at him, the plate of food forgotten.

"Is there enough left for me?" Fraser asked pointing at the dish. Ray looked at him in astonishment.

"You want to eat?"

"Yes." Ray shoved the plate he was holding at Fraser and ran into the kitchen, returning with fork and spoon. Fraser sat on the bed, balancing the plate and began to eat. God, he was hungry, and very quickly, to his and Ray's surprise, the plate was empty.

"You want some more?" Ray asked, his delight plain.

"If there is any, yes." Ray grabbed his plate and ran back to the kitchen, this time returning with Fraser's refilled dish and one for himself. Fraser tackled the seconds with relish, and Ray realised that he also was very hungry. The two men wolfed down their food. Fraser sat back and sighed. "That was good. What was it?"

"Corn beef, tinned vegetables, and uh, maple syrup." Fraser laughed, and Ray thought he'd never heard a sweeter sound. He collected the dishes and took them into the kitchen. As he turned around to go back into the main room, he found Fraser framed in the doorway.

"Shall I wash up?" Ray shook his head. "Go sit down, Fraser, we gotta talk." Fraser rebuilt the fire and sat down, waiting for Ray to join him, Ray sat heavily into the arm chair, and Fraser could see how tired he looked, his face bruised from Fraser's beating of yesterday. The dusk was drawing in and Fraser got up and lit a lantern. The room was cosy but he still drew a blanket around himself. He looked at Ray, who was watching the flames.

"What happened this morning, Ray?"

Ray looked at him, clearly unsure  whether he could talk about this without sparking another eruption.  He picked up a stick and tossed it into the fire.

"You lost it again. You were on the porch, me and Dief were playing fetch and then you started shouting. About Ray Vecchio and ..." he stopped.

"Petey? I was talking about Ray and Petey?" Fraser asked.

"Well, not talking about - talking to, more like. It was like you was there, you know? Then you got hysterical, and I had to sit on you to stop you running away. Dief sat on you too."

Ray managed a small grin at this. Fraser had to smile, even though he could see the other man was clearly pained by the recollection. It pained him to hear it.

"Took two of you, eh?"

"Yeah." Ray sighed. "Look Frase, I'm glad you're feeling better, but I can't deal with this any more. One of these days you're gonna manage to run out, or you're gonna whack me again and really hurt me, or kill yourself, or kill both of us. I don't want that on my conscience. And besides, I'm getting pretty sick of corn beef. We need supplies."

Fraser looked at his feet. He knew Ray was right. He felt ill and depressed, remembering the wild man he had become - it was like another person inside him he couldn't control. Yet he couldn't face going back to Chicago, nor, he realised, could he face being alone anymore. The pain inside him had eased, but it still left him hollow and desperate. The only person who had even realised how much he hurt was this kooky American, whom he loved deeply and with a fierce loyalty. Funny way to show it, he thought sickly, trying to kill him.

"Fraser?" Ray sounded concerned.

"It's OK, Ray, I'm just thinking about the options."

"Ain't got but two. Stay here and die alone, or go home."

"What about number three?"

"What's that?" Ray was puzzled.

Fraser spoke slowly, hesitating to ask so much of the friend he'd tried to hurt, so recently.

"Stay here with me." Ray started to protest. "Just until I can get a few things clear. We can get the mail van to deliver supplies. I promise to be good." Ray shook his head, and Fraser's heart sank. It was too much to ask, he knew.

Ray spoke. "Fraser, there's no use me staying here unless you talk to me. You hate talking about yourself. _I_ hate talking about myself too, can't blame you for it, but you've got a problem I can't solve on my own."

Fraser looked at his feet again as he spoke. "I know. Ray. I'm really sorry. I will talk to you, you have my word, but I understand, it's too much."

Ray considered this, then came to a decision. "OK - I'll stay. For one week. And any more fits, and I call the cavalry." He showed Fraser his phone.

"Understood."

 

* * *

Fraser called the boatman on Ray's phone and put in an order to be filled at the village store and delivered the following day. To his amusement, Ray insisted on fruit and vegetables, proclaiming that Fraser needed to replace what nearly two weeks' non-eating had lost him. He did not forget his wolf, and ordered a big bag of kibble, with a few bones. The chore done, the two men did a bit of tidying up. Ray decided he had to have a shower, and took himself off to achieve this. Fraser washed up, and contemplated as he rinsed and dried, how different he felt from the madness that overwhelmed him when he saw Ray at the door. Never before in his life had he felt such an overpowering, terrifying rage - even when he'd confronted Gerard, he had felt in control. But when Ray arrived, he'd never felt so close to murder. It was like being possessed. All he could think was that Buck had betrayed him, betrayed his word. Now he realised that Buck had not had to tell Ray where to find him, he could just let his partner 'detect' the answer. He really had to hand it to the old man - he had him coming and going. He would have to remember to tell him how important Ray's arrival had turned out to be. But then, he thought, he probably already knew.

He returned to the living room, where Ray was sitting in sweat pants and shirt, drying his hair with a towel in front of the fire. "You ought to have one too, Frase." Fraser agreed, but he would have to wait until morning. No hot water. He'd live, although he was becoming aware that he was beginning to smell somewhat, and his straggly stubble was really unacceptable. Ray  took the bull by the horns.

"Fraser, do you want to tell me about Petey now?"

"If you like, yes."

Ray settled back in the chair. Fraser lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling,  began to talk, in a quiet, calm voice, about how Ray Vecchio had met Petey's mother, and how he had had the child foisted upon him by the mother.

"He was mute, that was the saddest thing. But he had the biggest eyes, and this little smile.... He took to Ray right off. He really loved the boy."

"What about you?"

"Well, I, uh.... We used to play together, I'd read to him, that sort of thing. Helping Ray out."

"Come on, Fraser, how did you feel about him?"

"I... We .... " He stopped, and Ray looked at him, urging him to continue. "I was very fond of him. He was a delightful little boy."

"Just fond?"

"Yes, very fond."

"How did he... What happened when you were shot?"

Fraser's face clouded with pain.

"Welsh warned us to get Petey out of town, and we went up to his cabin. Unfortunately, they took us by surprise, very early in the morning. We'd all only just got up. We were ambushed, pinned down. I tried to distract the gunman to allow Ray and the boy to get to the car, but I was hit in the head and knocked out. When I came to, I found Ray hurt and Petey was dead."

Fraser's voice was flat, his eyes closed.

"How did you feel when you saw them?"

Fraser didn't respond.

"Fraser?" Nothing again.

"Fraser, come on, you promised."

Fraser's breath caught.  "It was my fault," he whispered.

"Why, Fraser? You have to tell me. Why is it your fault?"

"I promised them. I promised Welsh, I promised Ray's mother. I promised Petey. I promised them I'd protect them both, and I let them down. "

"How?"

"I sat up to keep watch, but I fell asleep. I could have seen them coming, I could have got them out."

"Fraser, that's just stupid. Vecchio's a cop too, did he sit up?"

"No," Fraser whispered.

"Then why blame yourself? What did Dief do?" Fraser didn't answer. "What did Dief do?" Ray repeated.

"Nothing." Fraser's voice was very small.

"Well, there you go. Dief didn't see 'em, didn't smell 'em, they weren't there. They must have come in the morning when you woke up. Am I right?"

"Maybe."

Ray returned to his previous question.

"When you saw Petey was dead, how did you feel about that?"

Fraser couldn't answer. It was such a stupid question. You see a dead child, and you feel... What? What are you supposed to feel? He knew Ray wouldn't give up, so he tried to frame his thoughts into words. He cleared his throat.

"When I joined the RCMP, I knew I wanted to help people. I wanted to make the world a better place. And I've tried. I really thought, I've made a little difference. But when I saw him on the grass, I thought..."

"What did you think?"

"I thought if I can't even protect my own child from danger, what the hell am I doing here?"

Ray was confused. "He was your son?"

"No. I mean, he was like a son. I was fond of him... I... I loved him. I loved him, and he's dead. I miss him, all the time. Ray did too, it nearly killed him."

"Yeah, and now it's killing you too," Ray said in exasperation. "Did you ever talk to Ray Vecchio about this?"

"No, how could I? Ray was in pain, he needed me to help him. It was entirely selfish of me to feel so upset. It was Ray who took him in, who looked after him. His mother too."

"And you. Fraser, you are so stupid sometimes. You spend all your time helping every street kid, every wounded bird, every lost dog - you can't help yourself. You spent a lot of time with an adorable kid, and you loved him. Sounds like it was easy to do, and he was easy to miss. Stop hitting yourself over the head. There's no crime in missing someone you love. I should know."

Fraser was quiet, and Ray clearly decided that enough wounds had been exposed for now.

"I think we should go to sleep. We can talk tomorrow. You want the bed or the bedroll?" Fraser swallowed, still lost in the pain uncovered. Finally he muttered "Bedroll" as he pushed himself up off the bed. He'd have liked to have shared the bed with Ray - there was room, and he needed human touch so much. He wanted Ray's touch so much.  But he simply stretched out before the fire and Diefenbaker came and curled up next to him. Ray put out the lamp.

Fraser whispered, "Thank you, Ray."

"You're welcome, Fraser. 'Night"

 

* * *

Fraser was awake before Ray, once more, and rose silently from his bedroll to finally have the long-delayed shower. He searched Ray's pack for his toiletry kit, and found the razor. He slipped into the bathroom and stood under the hot stream for ages, until he felt the hot water giving out. He had to keep some to shave with. He dried off, and with only a towel around his middle, proceeded to remove ten days' worth of whiskers. They didn't amount to much, and Fraser knew he had confirmed once again that beards were not for him. He looked at his face. It was an improvement, to be clean and shaven, but his eyes still looked raw. He'd not slept well, not that he'd have ever told Ray. His dreams were endless and painful.

He remembered the conversation the night before clearly. He wasn't sure it helped, but it had done no harm either. He'd never told anybody about his feelings for Petey, but when they were reflected back at him in the Chicago cop's slightly nasal tones, he had realised that he had not had to bottle them up for so long. If only he could stop seeing ... No, he would not think about this, or talk about it anymore. He had to move on. Beside, he felt much better today. Everything was going to be all right.

He realised he'd left his clean clothes in the main room, and snuck a look to see if Ray were still asleep. In fact, the other man was sitting up, and yawning. "Hi, Fraser."

"Good morning, Ray," He made a dive for his bag and was going back to change but Ray stopped him. "You can change in here, I need the can." Ray disappeared and Fraser slipped on the first clean clothes he worn in nearly two weeks. He scooped up the dirty ones and shoved them out on the porch. Deal with them later, he thought. He rustled up some oatmeal ready for Ray's re-emergence, and proceeded to eat his own breakfast. He had just finished when Ray reappeared.

 

* * *

"We better hurry. We'll have to meet the boat.  I made breakfast." Fraser dished out some porridge and handed it to Ray, who took it and sat on the bed to eat it. He eyed the Mountie suspiciously as he did so, watching Fraser bustle around straightening up things, clearing away dirty clothes, feeding Dief. He had obviously washed and shaved, and so looked better, but Ray couldn't quite believe the Mary Poppins act. Not 24 hours ago this man would have, could easily have, killed him to escape into his own icy death. Now he was Mr Cheerful. Ray finished and put the bowl aside. He pulled on some warm jeans and a heavy shirt, feeling in a bad mood. Something about Fraser was bugging him, but as he couldn't quite say what, other than the man was preternaturally bright and cheery, he kept quiet.

"Ready?" Fraser asked him. Ray nodded as he shrugged on his heavy coat and put on a woollen hat.

"How do we get the stuff back from the lake?"

"There's a sled in the back. We can haul it." Ray followed Fraser outside and together they got the sled out. Ray was pleasantly surprised that it was easy to pull it along the firm snow - there had been a slight thaw and a refreeze. Ideal skiing and sledding conditions. Ray also found some snow shoes, and Fraser instructed Ray in their use. They made it up to the lake shore in about half the time it had taken Ray to first come down from it, and then sat on the sled to await the boat.

"What time did he say?" Ray asked.

"Oh, any time between ten and twelve." Ray didn't fancy a two hour wait in the cold, but there was little alternative. Fraser sat beside him, looking happy and alert - and faking it.  Ray pushed a little.

"Sleep OK?"

"Very well, thank you. I feel much better today." Ray knew he was lying. He had in fact slept badly himself, not least in part because the other man had spent much of the night, rolling around, moaning, calling out names and muttering incoherently. As Ray didn't want to start a fight out here in the middle of nowhere, he didn't pick Fraser up on the lie. Maybe he didn't remember, Ray thought and shrugged his mental shoulders.

The boat arrived very soon after 10.00 and the two men loaded up the sled. Pulling it back was a damn sight harder than it had been to bring it to the lake. Ray saw with concern that Fraser was really struggling.

"Fraser, wait up. Let me pull it alone for a bit, you get your breath."

"I assure you, Ray, I feel perfectly okay."

"Crap, Fraser, look at you. You're snorting like a steam engine."

"Fine," Fraser suddenly snapped, and threw the harness off and at Ray. "You know everything, why don't you do everything?" With that he stalked off towards the cabin. Ray looked at his departing back with dismay. What should he do? Leave the supplies and chase the Mountie, or get the sled back and then see if he could catch him up. He decided, reluctantly, to do the latter. Fraser looked mad, but not insane. Ray hoped that he wouldn't cross over that line while Ray was gone.

Ray finally got the heavy sled up to the cabin, and called Fraser's name. No reply. He opened the door of the cabin, but there was no sign of him. Then Ray saw the trail of tracks headed back to the wooded area where he previously confronted Fraser. He quickly unloaded the supplies into the cabin and then headed off in the direction Fraser had taken. No Dief this time. Ray guessed he was with Fraser. He just hoped this time, Fraser wasn't going to point a gun at him.

He came into the glade, and as he thought he would, he found Fraser sitting there once more. He'd built a small fire, Dief was sitting next to him, and Fraser's arm was around him. The man looked into the flames, apparently oblivious to Ray 's approach, but as he drew nearer, Fraser suddenly said, "Ray, I could really do with some privacy for a while." Ray stopped. The words were delivered calmly and politely enough, and he knew full well their situation was claustrophobic. They had to dodge around each other whole time in the cabin - even when they weren't trying to rip each others heads off. He was still trying to decide what was the best thing to do, when Fraser spoke again.

"You know, when my mother died, I thought that was the worst thing that would ever happen to me. Then my father died. I decided, no, that was it. Then I discovered who his killer was, and for me, that was when I thought it had bottomed out.  I actually thought that I'd paid enough in pain for one life, and surely nothing else could ever been so bad again.  I was wrong. When I saw Petey there, with his chest torn apart, blood all over him, that's when I _knew_ that nothing worse than that could ever happen to me. Even ... even Victoria wasn't as bad as that.  But you want to know something? There was something that was worse than all of that."

Ray said quietly, "The dead baby?"

Fraser grimaced at the memory. "No. That was horrible, but I wasn't responsible for that. The worst thing was watching myself point a gun at you, knowing that I was going to pull the trigger, and not being able to do one thing to prevent it. That's when I knew that I had lost everything I had believed about myself, everything I had ever stood up for."

Ray sat down across from Fraser, and looked at his partner's face. Fraser's eyes hadn't lifted from the fire, but Ray could see they were wet.

"Frase, I forgave you for that. You weren't yourself."

"But I _was_ myself, don't you see? That is me, not some other person who just inhabits my body. It was me - I could have killed you, I could have killed Dief. I didn't care. I told you I loved Petey. I can't see how I can have done. Love doesn't make you do things like that." Fraser's head sunk lower down, and Ray could no longer see his eyes.

"Fraser. Look at me." Fraser ignored him.

"Fraser," Ray's tone was warning, but he still got no response. "Fraser, you said you'd talk to me. You promised." He got a response that time, but still no eye contact.

"Ray, I really need to be alone. Please. I'll come back later. Just leave, will you?"

Ray gave it up and walked away. One step forward and two steps back, he thought. The longer this went on, the more reasons Fraser would find to hate himself, and Ray didn't seem to be able to find the key to unlock Fraser's unhappiness. He felt impotent, that he was making the situation worse for both of them. He regretted not getting in the boat earlier, but it was too late. The next visit was in three days'  time. We'll be all crazy by then, he thought grimly.

Back at the cabin, he unpacked the supplies, and made a hearty stew for the evening with the fresh meat and vegetables Fraser had arranged. Having exhausted the entertainment possibilities of the tiny cabin, he threw himself into the armchair, and decided to call Welsh.

"Hi Lieutenant. Yeah, I found him. He's fine. Well, actually, no, he's not. He tried to kill me," and had to hold the phone away from his ear, Welsh shouted so hard.

"It's OK, we're working it out," he lied. "I should be back in a week, maybe two. Can you tell Inspector Thatcher? Tell her to wait?" Welsh agreed, and Ray hung up, anxious to preserve the battery in case an emergency came up - like Fraser freaking out again. He wondered about calling Frobisher, but thought he should wait at least until Fraser gave a signal that he had either given up, or gotten better. He looked around the cabin. Fraser's pack was there. He rummaged through it but found no book, no paper or pencil, not even tiddlywinks. He sighed. His head cut itched, and the headache was back. Maybe he would feel better after a nap, he thought and stretched out on the bed. He fell asleep quickly.

When he awoke, he was alarmed to see the dim light at the window. Dusk was drawing in fast, and Fraser was nowhere to be seen. Ray swung his legs off the bed, and was about to stand and get his coat when he heard the step outside the door, and then Fraser came in. He just looked at Ray and grunted in acknowledgement of his presence, but said nothing as he went to the fireplace and built and lit the fire. The room had become chilly, Ray could feel. He realised Fraser had had nothing to eat since breakfast.

"You want supper?" Fraser said nothing, crouched on his hunkers in front of the fire. Ray felt his irritation rise. Fraser had asked him to stay and now he was treating him like dirt again. He went into the kitchen and made more noise than was strictly necessary, heating the stew, assembling plates, spoons and mugs for the hot chocolate he was going to have, even if the Mountie disapproved. He turned around and saw said Mountie staring at him from the doorway.

"You need a hand?"

"No thank you so much, Fraser. I do believe this simple task should be well within my limited abilities," he mimicked Fraser's didactic tone. He grabbed the utensils and plates, and pushed past Fraser into the living room.

"Here. Eat." He shoved the food at the other man, and took his own plate over the bed and ate in silence, refusing to look at Fraser. He finished the food and finally looked at where the Mountie was again seated cross legged in front of the fire. The bowl of stew was sitting beside him, untouched. Ray walked over and picked it up. "Here, you have to eat this." Fraser brushed his hand aside, albeit gently. Ray lost his temper and tossed the stew into Fraser's lap. Fraser didn't say a word. He just got up and scraped the mess off himself back into the bowl and took it into the kitchen. When he came back, Ray saw he'd made an attempt to wipe the worst off with a cloth. He resumed his position in front of the fire. Ray suddenly regretted his tantrum.

"Fraser, I'm sorry. Let me clean that properly for you." He fetched the cloth again from the kitchen and made to wipe Fraser's jeans. Fraser looked at him with cold blue eyes.

"Thank you, Ray, I don't need your assistance."

"Come on Fraser, let me get this..."

"Fuck off, Ray." Ray sat back, utterly shocked. Fraser never, ever swore, unless you counted 'darn'. He could see the hard look on Fraser's face and knew they were no closer than before to an answer to this mess. Fraser was again not eating, and now they were at daggers drawn. Great going, Kowalski, he thought bitterly. Ray returned to the bed, and lay down. His long nap made it hard to sleep, and he watched the flickering shadows from the fire play on the ceiling for a long time before dropping off. When he last looked, Fraser was sitting like a statue in front of the fire. His eyes looking at nothing.

 

* * *

Ray woke. The room was entirely dark except for the bright moonlight which streamed in the curtainless windows. The fire had long since died and the room was cold. Was that what had woken him? Then he heard Fraser scream softly, and it made the hairs on Ray's neck stand on end. The Mountie was curled up on the bare floor in front of the dead fire. As Ray watched, he saw Fraser's body twist as he moaned incoherently. Ray got out of bed, dragging a blanket with him. He'll be frozen, Ray thought and knelt next to him. He put his hand on Fraser's shoulder to wake him, but forestalled himself when he felt the tremors which rippled through Fraser's body. He was shivering violently, either from cold or fear - or worse? Ray wondered. He got up and quickly stripped the remaining blankets from the bed and packed them around Fraser to keep him warm while he rebuilt the fire until it was again blazing brightly. He tried to get Fraser to actually lie on a blanket but he was rigid and immovable. He hesitated, then lay down next to Fraser, careful to cushion his own body from the floor with a folded blanket. He wrapped his arm over his friend, feeling the shivering which ran non-stop through the man's body. He rubbed Fraser's shoulders, trying to soothe him, then put his arms around him. He could hear Fraser muttering, but he couldn't make out the words. At least he wasn't screaming any more. He fancied that Fraser was a little quieter, but kept his arms tightly round the other man. "Go to sleep, buddy, go to sleep," he whispered over and over, until he also fell asleep again.

 

* * *

Fraser woke. It was pitch dark except from the slight glow of the fire which was dying in the grate. He was on the floor, he realised, and covered in blankets. He was confused, he wasn't on the bed roll. He could feel warmth on his back, and tried to roll away to look at the source, but  was startled to realise he was being held tenderly, and firmly. Ray, he thought, and allowed himself to enjoy the beloved touch while the other man still slept.  But his bladder was being insistent, so he at last carefully pried the arms away from him, and moved away. Ray was curled up, also wrapped in blankets. He's going to be stiff tomorrow, Fraser thought grimly. He decided he would try to move Ray back up onto the bed just as soon as he'd been to the bathroom. However, when he came back, Ray was sitting up, yawning.

"What time is it?" Ray asked sleepily

"I don't know. Still night. Why don't you go back to bed?"

Ray shook his head. "Nah, I've been asleep forever." Fraser nodded and threw some more wood on the fire, which quickly blazed up. Fraser sat on one of the blankets, looking at his partner's sleepy face in the firelight, and his chest got tight. This man was trying to help him, trying to save him, in fact, and all he had done was try and drive him away, with fists and words. Repeatedly. He put his hand on Ray's shoulder, and pulled him a little closer. Ray snapped out of the little doze he'd fallen into.

"What, Fraser?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good, just great."

"Ray, I'm sorry."

Ray said nothing. Fraser understood his confusion - after all, there were so many things to apologise for.

"I'm sorry for swearing at you, and for driving you away. I need you, I need your friendship. Don't let me destroy it."

"This is killing me, Fraser. I ... I just don't know what to do."

"Neither do I, Ray. I'm just so tired of everything." Fraser's voiced trailed off, and he took his hand off Ray's shoulder, wrapped his arm around his knees.

Ray reached out his own hand to Fraser's back. "Fraser, it's OK. We just need to get you back home."

"I can't, Ray. I've resigned my post. I want to stay in Canada."

"Here? In Buck Frobisher's hunting lodge? Yep, that makes sense. Best cop I know and you want to bury yourself butt deep in snow." Fraser didn't reply. He didn't want to argue with Ray any more, he was too exhausted. He lay back on the blanket, pulled another around him and stared into the fire.

Ray couldn't sleep on the disassembled bed, so he fetched the sleeping roll. He placed it next to Fraser in front of the fire and lay on it, wrapped in the remaining blankets.

"Fraser?

"Mmmm."

"You were dreaming again." Fraser sat up again, put his hands over his face and rubbed it hard.

"What did I say?"

"Nothing much, I couldn't make it out. Was it Petey?"

"I don't think so. I just remember, lots of blood. Grass, and blood. It never makes any sense."

"Fraser, you need help." Ray said quietly.

"Yes, I know, " Fraser replied tiredly, "but I need to get out of the city too. There's too much dirt, and crime, and death. Up here, you can breath properly, live clean."

"Fraser, you're always going on about how your father taught you this and said that. What did he say about running away from your dreams?"

"Not much. He did say a man had to face his fears. But I've been doing that for two years - more, if you count since he died. It's not getting any easier."

"You gotta keep going, Frase."

"Why?"

The question surprised Ray.  "Well, you gotta. What's the alternative?"

"Death?"

Ray was shocked. Fraser smiled at Ray's expression.

"Its OK, Ray, I won't harm myself. Not while you're still here anyway, and probably not at all. As you pointed out, I don't really have the balls. You know, I didn't come up here to kill myself. It was just, when I saw that baby, I just knew I had to get away from Chicago and up here, and never come back. There wasn't a plan, I just hurt inside. I couldn't take it any more and I ran away. Trouble was, when I got up here, the pain was worse. There was no one to talk to, nothing to do, and I just kept seeing Petey and Ray over and over. I went through that for over a year when he died, and I vowed I would not spend any more time feeling so much pain.  I just gave up. I was so angry at you and Buck when you showed up. I had this nice little plan, I would just go to sleep one night and not wake up. Then you come along and drag me back again." Fraser gave a little laugh at his own foolishness.

"Sorry, Fraser."

"Don't be sorry, Ray, you've saved my life - again. The question I have to answer now is - what for?"

Ray was silent for a long time.  "You know, when you lit outta town, you hurt a lot of people."

Fraser protested. "I didn't mean to..."

"Yeah, I know, but still. Welsh, Thatcher, Mrs Gamez.  Buck. They're all worried sick, and mad that you couldn't tell them what was wrong with you. By now the Vecchios will be frantic. What about the guys at the Precinct? It's like pulling a loose thread - you never know where it ends."

"So you think I should come back?"

"Yeah, sure , I mean, that's why I'm here. I think you owe people. You owed me a proper goodbye."

Fraser picked up on the reproach. "I'm sorry, Ray, I wasn't thinking. Buck would have contacted you..."

"And I would never have known if it was something stupid I'd done or said, that made you kill yourself." Ray caught himself.  "Look at Thatcher", he said in a more reasonable tone. "She's the Ice Queen right? Even she's completely freaked. You die up here without a word, and a lotta people gonna blame themselves."

Fraser hung his head. "I know, I've been selfish. I will come back with you, and explain to people. I don't think I can stay, but I will at least try and put things right."

Ray accepted this, and took Fraser's hand. "All you gotta do is try. You don't have to be superman all the time."

Fraser looked at him, then at the hand holding his. "Ray, why did you come up here?"

Ray blinked tiredly. "I thought we just did all that, Fraser."

"No. Why you? Why not the Inspector? You could have got the RCMP to look for me."

"You're my friend, Fraser. Why wouldn't I look for you?"

"Buck's my friend. He thought I was better off on my own."

"Yeah, well, Buck doesn't know you like I do. I knew there was something screwy." Ray's head was hanging down, and he wouldn't meet Fraser's eyes.

"Just 'know', Ray? You sure it isn't something more? Not a lot of people would come two thousand kilometres on a hunch. Even a good friend might think that was too much. Even Ray Vecchio might have given up on me by now." Ray looked straight at Fraser when he said that. Fraser lifted a hand, and Ray's breath caught as the Canadian gently stroked his cheek. "I think ... maybe it's more than 'know'."

"How long?" Ray's blue eyes looked huge in the dim light.

"Have I known? I was only sure when you came up here, when you withstood all I threw at you, and still you stayed. You stayed, and you kept me close and protected from myself. That has to be love, Ray."

Ray leaned into the hand on his face. "Do you mind, Fraser? I mean, you don't have to..."

Fraser leaned over and softly kissed Ray's cheek, then pulled the other man onto his shoulder. "No Ray. I don't mind. But I have to put this thing behind me. Then we can decide about us."

They sat  holding each other, watching the fire for a time, not speaking. The room was getting lighter - dawn was coming up. Ray brushed his lips against Fraser's neck, got up and stretched aching muscles. "Coffee?"

"Yes." Ray went to make the first decent coffee he'd had in a week, while Fraser cleared up the blankets and remade the bed tidily. He fed Dief, and the fire, and sat in the armchair. He felt better for his decision, but also scared. He'd managed to destroy quite a lot of his fragile life back in Chicago, and he would have to rebuild bridges. He would need Ray's help ... and his love.  But then, he realised, he always had done.   
    
 

Ray made the calls - to the boatman to collect them in two days, to Frobisher to reassure him, and to let Welsh know they were returning.

Now the decision was made to return, Ray was anxious to get going and the wait for transport was torture for him. It was now Fraser's turn to calm him down, and took him off on walks, helped him build a huge (and somewhat too anatomically correct) snowman, and involved him in a snowball fight to the death. Ray also cooked, rather well, and under the influence of several hefty meals, and a restoration of a regular routine, Fraser's physical tone improved. He now knew that part of his earlier insanity was the destabilising effect of no sleep and not eating, and just having proper food inside him made him feel more normal. There was also the small matter of the support and love of his best friend. They didn't talk about it much, but they slept on the narrow bed at night, not making love, but giving love and warmth to the other, Ray helping the hole in Fraser's heart mend, and Fraser filling the lonely space that Ray Kowalski had endured for so long.  There would be time for more, once they were home.

 

* * *

The two days passed, and finally they were on their way. Neither felt like speaking much - Ray didn't want to upset Fraser, and Fraser was just talked out.  Returning to Chicago was somewhat faster than Ray's trip up, as they didn't need to detour via the RCMP Depot. There was no need for Fraser to visit Buck. He didn't need to tell the older man about the depths he'd plumbed - Buck knew all about fear and despair, and the value of a friend. Fraser would later write a long letter to him, to thank him and to tell him all that had happened. For now, he had to face another Mountie, who he feared may not be so understanding.

 

* * *

Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, stood rigidly to attention in the office of his superior. Thatcher looked at her aggravating officer with a mixture of emotions, not least of which was anger, anger that he had been ready to run away and leave them, her, without any explanation. Meg had had a very long and somewhat painful conversation with Ray the previous day. Fraser had not returned to the consulate but was staying at Ray's apartment until the situation was cleared up. Ray had told her everything that had happened, even the bit about Fraser trying to kill him, and trying to kill himself through neglect. She'd also spoken to Lieutenant Welsh about the Carpenter case. Meg could imagine only too vividly the horror of the situation for Ray, and found herself feeling considerable unexpected sympathy for him. She'd agreed with Ray that Fraser needed help, but he also needed his duty and his job. She was going to offer him both, if he still wanted it.

"Sit down, Fraser." He obeyed. She picked up a letter opener and toyed with it. Fraser was still rigidly upright in the chair.

"Detective Vecchio has told me something of what happened up north. Would you like to add anything personal thoughts of your own?"

"No, sir."

"I don't think I can accept that, Fraser. I have here a letter of resignation, without any explanation, and a report that you attempted to kill yourself, and also threatened your best friend with a gun. I will be asked to explain the loss of one of my officers, and an apparent mental breakdown of which I was completely unaware. It will reflect badly on me, do you understand?"

"Yes sir. I'm sorry."

Thatcher was losing her cool.

"Fraser, just tell me. Why did you go? You didn't have to resign - you could have taken leave. I'm not totally without feelings, I might have been quite sympathetic." She saw Fraser smile slightly at the joke.

"I'm sure you would, sir. It's just that I felt unable to continue performing my duties as they should be done, and remain in Chicago. I needed to be away from the city, and...."

"And...?"

"And, well, all of it. Memories, people, demands. I can't really explain it too clearly. Did Ray tell you....?"

"Yes, he was unusually forthcoming. About _everything_ ," she said with emphasis. She saw the distress on Fraser's face.

"Fraser, I had to know. It is unacceptable that I was not aware of your mental state, and I cannot forgive myself. Or you. You should have asked for help."

Fraser hung his head. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Oh, for heavens sake, man, don't keep apologising. Just fix it. I am going to ask you to withdraw your resignation and allow me to make you an appointment with a doctor who specialises in post-traumatic stress. I think you have underestimated us, Fraser. The RCMP is well used to dealing with this sort of thing. Do you agree?"

He didn't reply and for a second she thought she had bullied him too far. Then she heard him.

"Yes, I agree."

She breathed out in sheer relief, and handed him back his folded note.

"I suggest you burn that. It's not something I want lying around the consulate. I can also tell you that if you ever leave something like that in my office again, I shall personally kick your behind from here to the Yukon. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir. Understood."

"Good. I'll make the appointment. You take a couple more days off, go make peace with your friends. I'm getting sick of fielding your calls." She smiled at him, but when he lifted his head to look at her, she wiped it off so he only saw - so she thought - the stern, Inspector Thatcher face of old.

"Dismissed, Constable."

"Yes sir. Thank you"

 

* * *

Ray was waiting for him outside the Consulate. "Thatcher cool?"

"Actually, she was rather warm."

Ray gave him a startled grin. "So you can stay?"

"Yes. On a few conditions. Hardly surprising."

"And are you OK, Fraser? Staying here?"

Fraser stepped up to his partner, put a friendly hand - or what would pass for one - on his shoulder, which earned him a warm, loving smile from his friend. "I'm OK, Ray. Being here, being with you. That's enough to go on with."

"That'll do me, Fraser buddy."

Fraser hesitated. "Ray ... there's something I have to do. Someone I have to see." Ray looked at him. Understood what he meant. A little grave, two years into its greening.

"I'll come with you."

"Yes. Then we can go home."

"Home?"

"Where the heart is, Ray. "

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


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